


Sherlollipops - Home Care, Sherlock Style

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [193]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7413532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sherlollyandshit on tumblr said: Hey there…so you said the offer for a fic still stands? And as awkward as I feel asking for anything from people, after the day I’ve had I could really use a pick me…and I kind of have a thing for hurt/comfort (who doesn’t, though). The best is when something happens to Molly and Sherlock is all super worried and takes care of her. But really, im not picky. Whatever you want to write (bonus points if there’s cuddling though)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Home Care, Sherlock Style

It was stupid and never should have happened, but sometimes the stars aligned…and sometimes they dropped right on top of your head. Usually the latter, in Molly Hooper’s experience. Although in this case, it hadn’t literally been her head that had something dropped on it – thank goodness – but her foot. Specifically, her ankle had unfortunately been the landing place of a toppled-over stack of boxed supplies at work (not her fault, thankfully, that would have been just adding insult to injury).

So here she was, home for the rest of the week, and there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it except hobble about her flat, try not to trip over Toby…and do her best not to murder a certain consulting detective who’d apparently made it his life’s mission to coddle her in spite of her protests.

“Sherlock, honestly, it’s just a sprained ankle. I can take care of myself, I’ll be fine!”

The consulting pain-in-the-arse peered at her from her kitchen, one hand on the doorframe, the other holding the pair of dirty mugs he’d collected from the parlor. Peered at her peevishly. “Yes, of course you can. I’m not an idiot, Molly, I do realize that a sprained ankle is a minor injury.”

“Then why are you…” Too late; he’d popped his head back in the kitchen and she heard the water running. Which meant he was aggressively washing her cups and plates, just as he’d threatened to.

With a sigh, she eased herself onto the sofa. Toby immediately jumped onto her lap, and she stroked his head and chin while he purred contentedly. “What am I going to do with that impossible man?” she asked rhetorically.

Five minutes later the impossible man in question strode into the parlor, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands. The very same mugs he’d just washed – the Doctor Who one and the kitten one. He plunked them onto the low coffee table and entered into the usual staring match with Toby.

Surprisingly enough, this time it appeared he’d won: with a contemptuous swish of his tail, Toby jumped off her lap and stalked into the kitchen. Before Molly could say anything, Sherlock plopped himself down onto the sofa, maneuvering his body so that his head was on her lap, his hands tucked under his chin, and his legs bent at the knees so he could more comfortably fit.

“Um, Sherlock? What are you doing?”

“Waiting for my turn,” he said unhelpfully.

“Your turn for what?”

“For head pats and chin scratches,” he said, craning his head to look up at her. “Since you keep arguing with me about taking care of you, I thought maybe you’d prefer to take care of me instead.”

“By patting your head and scratching your chin?” Molly asked bemusedly.

“It’s a start,” he agreed, closing his eyes and settling more comfortably against her thigh. “We can work up to a kiss and possibly a truly epic snogging session after that, then see how we feel about sex once we come up for air.”

“Um, we…what? Who said anything about sex?” Molly demanded, utterly flummoxed by both his words and the matter-of-fact tone in which he spoke them. “How did sex even…what the hell are you talking about?”

“Sex, apparently,” Sherlock replied dryly, eyes still shut. “Whenever you’re ready for it, of course. I can wait; it’s only fair, considering how long I’ve made you wait.”

Molly shook his shoulder; he looked up at her, annoyance clear on his features. “What? Have I not been clear enough?” He let out a long-suffering sigh and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa and facing her with one arm along the back. “Seeing you injured, even in so minor a fashion, made me finally face some very unpleasant truths about myself. Like the fact that – and I’ll deny ever saying this if you tell anyone – I actually am an idiot. At least when it comes to you. I waited too long, and you were otherwise engaged. Literally,” he added with a cheeky grin. The grin faded as he continued speaking. “Then I got myself in over my head with the Magnussen case, and then the Moriarty double…well. You know how that all worked out.”

Molly could only nod, too stunned by his casual revelations to speak. Fortunately for her Sherlock seemed more than willing to fill the silence. “Anyway, after that moronic intern knocked that stack of boxes onto you, all I could think about was the fact that you were hurt. And what if it had been something more serious? Sentiment can cloud your judgement, but it can also bring clarity, surprisingly enough.”

After a few moments spent absorbing his words, Molly said, “So, ah, you received clarification? Of some sort? Because I have a sprained ankle?”

He nodded, then reached out and took her hand in his. Eyes lowered, as if speaking to their joined appendages, he said softly, “Clarification indeed. I realized what an idiot I’d been, how much time I’d wasted, and how determined I was never to waste another second.”

“Right, got it,” Molly said, although she was feeling more than a bit dazed and confused at the moment. “So, um, you have sentiments…feelings…for me? Of some kind?”

“Of some kind,” Sherlock agreed, then leaned forward and kissed her. “More specifically, of a romantic kind,” he said after that all-too-brief press of the lips. “The only question is, do you still have feelings – of a romantic kind, let’s be specific here – for me?”

He looked at her expectantly. She looked right back at him…and decided to let actions speak louder than words. She leaned forward and kissed him, curling her free hand behind his neck in order to bring him closer.

When that kiss ended, his eyes remained closed for a few seconds longer than hers, then snapped open. “Good,” he said, sounding a bit breathless. Which did as much for Molly’s ego as the kisses themselves; nice to know she could affect him so strongly! Of course, he’d just admitted to romantic feelings for her, so it probably shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, but she’d always assumed that even if he did ever show romantic interest in her, that it would be in a more intellectual way.

“Right, then, that’s kissing out of the way, now about that snogging session you mentioned…?”

Sherlock’s delighted smile – and the way he so carefully pulled her into her arms – would linger in her mind for a long, lovely time.

Once she could think again, of course.


End file.
